


Would you ever take a chance with me? (Would you ever?)

by intravenusann



Series: The Stripper AU [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Hand Jobs, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Past Child Abuse, Sexting, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 12:57:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11806458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intravenusann/pseuds/intravenusann
Summary: Just as Credence feels settled into something like a routine with his found family in Atlanta, his sisters arrive in the city. Also what exactly is his relationship with bartender/strip club owner/general hottie Mr. Graves?





	Would you ever take a chance with me? (Would you ever?)

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy! It's here! So my idea for this is to add new stories as I finish them as chapters. My plan for this is... pretty ambitious. Maybe too ambitious? But I don't want to withhold all the fun while I work on these ambitions. I promise no cliffhangers.
> 
> WARNING: This story is going to deal with the aftermath of growing up under the thumb a physically and emotionally abusive parent. There's broken relationships and even some broken bones. Be kind to yourself before and after reading!

When Credence’s phone buzzes with a message at two in the afternoon, while he’s doing SAT practice quizzes, he expects it to be Mr. Graves. 

They’ve already exchanged their usual early afternoon texts, including a photo Mr. Graves took right after he’d showered. But sometimes Mr. Graves sends him more photos before he goes to work — especially if he goes to the gym.

“Credence, please call me if you are able to,” reads a message from Chastity, of all people.

The excitement in Credence’s chest goes out like a blown fuse.

He frowns, but he still unlocks his phone and taps through his contacts to call her. 

Maybe Mary Lou is dead, he thinks, then immediately feels worse for having thought that.

“Hello?” Chastity’s voice answers. “Credence?”

“Chastity,” he says. “What’s happened?”

“Are you still in Atlanta?” Chastity asks.

Credence hesitates. “Yes.”

“Do you have a car?” she asks.

“What?” Credence asks. 

“Look,” Chastity says, while Credence is still grasping for sense. “I’m at the airport with Modesty. I was going to meet my fiancé here, but he was delayed and his grandmother is in the hospital now and — the Lord directs and guides us, but I am having a particularly difficult day right now.”

“Your fiancé?” Credence repeats.

“Yes,” Chastity says. “We thought about settling in Houston, but he saw an opportunity to transfer his job. Since both he and I have family in Georgia, this seemed like the better idea.”

“You have family here?” Credence asks. He has thought sometimes about trying to find out who his real mother was; maybe Chastity had actually done that for herself.

“Credence, don’t be foolish,” she says. “I am asking for your help.”

Credence sighs through his nose so that Chastity won’t hear him.

“Yes, Modesty,” Chastity says. “I’m — Credence, she wants to talk to you.”

The next voice Credence hears is Modesty’s. 

“Hi Credence!” 

His throat closes. He swallows.

“Hello Modesty,” he says.

“We came back to Georgia,” Modesty says. “But this time we’re going to stay because you’re here and Chastity is going to get married and I’m going to be an auntie.”

“Chastity is having a child?” Credence asks, feeling sick to his stomach. If Mary Lou knew Chastity was pregnant — if she even suspected such a thing. Credence feels cold horror crawl down his back.

“Oh, no,” Modesty says. “Well, maybe she will because she’s going to get married. So I guess she’ll have sex then.”

“Modesty!” Credence says and he can hear Chastity saying the same thing.

“We are in public,” he can hear Chastity say. “Give me my phone back.”

“No way,” Modesty says. “I haven’t talked to Credence in forever and you’re terrible at convincing him to do stuff, Chastity, but I can do it.”

“Modesty,” Credence says. He’s still trying to shake off the fear of his mother. “Give the phone back to your sister.”

“But will you come get us?” Modesty asks. “Please, Credence, we’ve been waiting for hours already cause Philip’s grandmother is sick.”

Philip must be Chastity’s fiancé, though the very concept still leaves Credence doubtful. Has she even met this man before? Is he real?

“I’m getting hungry,” Modesty says. “And Chastity says everything is too expensive at the airport.”

“I’ll come get you,” Credence says, even though he’s not yet sure how he’ll accomplish that.

“Oh! Thank you, Credence,” Modesty says. “I knew you would. I miss you so much! I was going to come see you sooner, but — Hey!”

After a bit of noise, Chastity speaks again, “I apologize for Modesty’s behavior.”

“No need,” Credence says. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

He can hear Chastity sigh into the phone.

“I told her I’d come get you both,” Credence says.

“You will?” Chastity asks.

“I’m not sure how,” Credence says.   


“Oh,” she interrupts.

“But,” Credence continues, “I’ll find a way.”

“I — thank you, Credence,” she says.

He holds his breath for something more, but it doesn't come.

“I'll call you back when I have a ride,” Credence says. “I'll try to be as fast I can, but it would have been better if I'd known you were coming.”

“Obviously,” Chastity says. “But you don't ever call me and _apparently_ you don't even think of yourself as my family anymore. I didn't come all the way out here to subsist on your charity, Credence.” 

“Fine,” he says. “I'll call you back as soon as I can.”

“Fine,” Chastity says.

He hangs up on her before she can wish him any blessings or say goodbye. 

“Can anyone pick me up and drive me somewhere?” Credence types into the house group chat. “Please?”

“I'm in class,” Tina replies, adding a few sad emojis.

Credence gets up and finds clothes he can wear to see his sister. Somehow, he senses she won't appreciate his black, skinny jeans and Newt’s “Nasty Woman” shirt. He takes one of his button-ups out of the hall closet and goes to dig out a tie. 

“Jacob is out on deliveries and I’m super busy :( so sorry, Credence!” reads a message from Queenie.

Credence makes a face at his phone. He knows that if Tina is unavailable, he likely won’t even hear from Newt. Jacob and Queenie shouldn’t have to interrupt their workday for Credence’s problem, which is truly Chastity’s problem.

If she had let him know even a day before, he might have been better able to help.

“Shit,” Tina adds to the group text.

“This professor is gonna ream me if I leave class, but I can get you an uber?”

“I’m alright,” Credence types. “I can figure this out.”

Tina texts him separately to ask what’s going on: “Is it Graves?”

“No,” Credence replies, though that gives him an idea. 

The Lord directs and guides us indeed, he thinks, but there’s something of the devil in him that thinks it would serve Chastity right to be reliant on the kindness of Mr. Graves. 

“It’s my sister,” Credence tells Tina. outside the group text. 

“Your sister?!?” she replies almost instantly.

“Both of them,” Credence types out. “They’ve arrived at the airport and need some assistance.”

“Credence, I hope you’re not thinking they can stay with us,” Tina replies.

“Not that I don’t want to help!” she adds quickly.

“There’s no space,” Credence types out. “Besides, I would prefer not to spend that much time with Chastity.”

Tina replies with a few distressed emojis.

“Professor caught me texting in class. TTYL!” Tina adds to the group chat, earning admonishment from Queenie.

Credence puts an outfit together from what he has: nice dark pants, a tie, his ironed shirt.

He knows his hair will likely horrify Chastity, but he likes it. However, he hasn’t combed it at all so far today. He didn’t shower, either, just put on clothes and got to work feeding chickens and studying right after. 

Credence folds the clothes he’s going to wear and stacks them on top of the closed toilet seat. Then he yanks his shirt off and hangs it off the edge of the sink. 

He picks up his phone and opens his text conversation with Mr. Graves — the most recent message is a little winking face, but if Credence scrolls up he can see pictures of Mr. Graves in bed, Mr. Graves drinking coffee, Mr. Graves dressed for work. His favorite is a photo of Mr. Graves right out of the shower — not the one he sent this morning, but one from weeks ago. The edge of the sink and mirror hide everything below Mr. Graves’ hips, but there’s still the very tops of his thighs and the base of his cock. 

The bathroom in Tina’s house isn’t really built for someone as tall as Credence. He strips down and his reflection cuts off half his head. He puts his hand over his dick after he’s taken his boxers off, as though he’s not about to jerk off in the shower. 

He does it quickly, though, and then soaps off any smells of sweat and sleep and chickens. 

Then he gets out, with his face kind of flushed and his hair slicked back by water.

He dries his hands enough to pick up his phone and snaps a photo while he’s dripping on the bathroom rug. If he stops to towel off, he’ll think too much about this and not do it. He only wants to think enough to make sure he’s sending this photo to Mr. Graves and no one else.

Credence dries off and gets dressed. He has just started tying his tie when he gets a series of texts from Mr. Graves in quick succession. 

“WOW.”

“To what do I owe this great honor?”

“Is this an invitation? Because I would like more details, but I want you to know that I accept.”

Credence picks up his phone and types out, “I need a favor.”

“Anything,” Mr. Graves replies. 

“I need a ride to the airport,” Credence types out.

“Should I pack a bag? If you’re planning a surprise Caribbean vacation I will need to let Seraphina know,” Mr. Graves replies.

Credence sighs, almost a laugh. He’s smiling and a bit red in the face as he finishes tying his tie. 

“Sorry, it’s nothing as exciting as that,” Credence types out. “Someone I know needs a ride, but everyone else is busy. It’s very sudden!”

“Well, you’ve caught me at the rare time I’m not busy,” Mr. Graves replies. “After that visual treat, I’d be remiss not to help you out.”

“You send me a lot of pictures,” Credence types. 

“I like sending you pictures,” Mr. Graves replies.

“I like receiving them,” Credence replies. 

In all honesty, Credence has total freedom now to look at all the pornography he could want. No one would even know — he’s at home alone so often. But the daily photos of Mr. Graves far surpass anything that Credence could find online. In fact, Mr. Graves takes requests. 

Credence can’t continue thinking about this when he’s going to have to see his sister in an hour or less.

“How close are you to Newt and Tina’s house?” he asks.

“Very!” Mr. Graves replies. “I just got to Magic when I got your text. I was going to do some inventory. Thrilling.”

Less, then.

“I’m heading out now,” Mr. Graves texts him. “I’ll call you when I arrive.”

The Hartsfeld-Jackson Atlanta International Airport is technically within the suburb in which Credence now lives, but certainly not close enough that he could walk. Still, if Mr. Graves is downtown, it will be a short drive to Credence and an even shorter drive to the airport.

Credence calls Chastity back.

“Are you here?” she asks, without even a greeting.

“No,” he says. “But I should be there soon. I was just calling to let you know I got a ride.”

“Of course,” she says. “Thank you, Credence, and God bless.”

“God bless,” Credence says, without feeling.

He hangs up.

While he waits for Mr. Graves, Newt chimes into the group chat apologizing that he can’t do anything to help.

“It’s fine,” Credence tells everyone. “Mr. Graves is giving me a ride.”

“Of course he is,” Newt adds.

Credence frowns at his phone.

“Ignore him, Credence!” Queenie chimes in. “I’m glad you have a ride. You wanna tell us what’s going on?”

“My sisters are here,” Credence says. 

“OMG!!!!! Credence!!!! That’s so exciting!” Queenie texts.

Then, “When do we get to meet them?”

And, “How old are they?”

And, “Do you think they’d want to come over for dinner?”

Queenie peppers Credence with more questions than he has answers, but he tries his best until his phone rings. He’s grateful that he got dressed before calling Chastity or texting his friends, because now Mr. Graves is outside and Queenie is still quizzing him about his sisters.

Credence tucks his phone into his pocket and grabs his wallet and keys before he heads out the door. Even in fall, it’s too hot to wear a jacket, but he hopes he looks presentable. He waves slightly at Mr. Graves’ car before he locks the door and heads out the gate.

The door of the black Prius pops open as he approaches and Mr. Graves leans across the seat to smile up at Credence.

“Hello, beautiful,” he says. “Your airport shuttle has arrived.”

Credence fights a smile as he slides into the passenger seat.

“Do you want to drive?” Mr. Graves asks. He touches the collar of Credence’s shirt and traces his fingers along his tie.

“No,” Credence says. He swallows. “Not today.”

“Alright,” Mr. Graves says. “Do you want a kiss?”

“Yes, please,” Credence says. His chest feels too tight and Mr. Graves’ hand so close to his throat isn’t helping. But a kiss might.

Mr. Graves pulls him close by the knot of his tie. The kiss begins softly, but Credence pushes his tongue between Mr. Graves’ lips and reaches out to put both arms around him. 

When it breaks, Credence finds he’s breathing hard.

“Don’t we have somewhere to be?” Mr. Graves asks.

Credence blinks. 

“Yes,” he says, pulling away. He adjusts his tie and smooths down his collar and shirt.

Mr. Graves shifts the car out of drive and it lurches forward when he takes the parking brake off. Credence starts to catch his breath, looking out ahead at the road directly in front of them without even a glance at Mr. Graves.

“So,” Mr. Graves says. “Who am I chauffeuring today? A friend? One of your housemates?”

“My sisters,” Credence says.

“Oh,” Mr. Graves says.

They drive about a block before Mr. Graves says, “So I’m meeting the family.”

“Just my sisters,” Credence says. He crosses his arms over his chest. Does Mary Lou know that Chastity and Modesty have left? Is that _kidnapping_? 

Credence fights the urge to cover his face with both hands. Instead, he continues to stare straight ahead.

“What are you going to tell them about us?” Mr. Graves asks. “Or, should I just act like I hardly know you?”

Credence shakes himself free from thoughts of his mother and looks at Mr. Graves, who is looking toward the turn up ahead.

“What?” he asks.

“Well,” Mr. Graves says. “I doubt you’re going to introduce me to your family as your sugar daddy.”

Credence’s mouth twists up unhappily. “You are not my —”

Mr. Graves’ laugh interrupts him.

“You’re not!” Credence insists.

“Not for lack of trying,” Mr. Graves says. He’s still looking at the road, but he’s smiling in a way that creases the skin around his eyes. He’s so handsome that Credence can’t stay indignant and look at him at the same time, so he looks back at the road in front of them.

“I suppose wealthy, older lover is more accurate,” Mr. Graves says. 

“But is that what you’re going to tell your sisters?”

“I’m not going to tell them anything,” Credence says. “It’s not any of their business.”

He tries to imagine Chastity’s face at being told such a thing, but all he sees in his mind is Mary Lou. 

“And you think they’re not going to ask?” Mr. Graves says.

“No,” Credence says. He cannot imagine Chastity’s reaction, but he also cannot imagine she will care who Mr. Graves is.

“So where am I driving your sisters?” Mr. Graves asks. “How many sisters do you have anyway?”

“Only two,” Credence says, “I thought I told you, I know I mentioned Modesty once.”

“I think you did,” Mr. Graves says. “Modesty and… Charity?”

“Chastity,” Credence says.

This makes Mr. Graves laugh again, for reasons that Credence cannot understand.

“Chastity plans to stay with her fiancé’s family,” Credence says. “I think.”

“Well,” Mr. Graves says.

As they get closer to the airport, Mr. Graves adds, “If your family needs any help, tell them your wealthy, older lover would be happy to lend a hand.”

Credence fights a smile and crosses his arms tighter over his chest. He's been slouching further down in his seat as they drive and now he sits up. He glances at Mr. Graves, who isn't smiling exactly but whose eyes are still creased at the corner.

“I'd love to see how Chastity would react to that,” Credence admits. 

“With a name like _Chastity_ , so would I,” Mr. Graves says. 

“Are you being crude?” Credence asks. “About my sister?”

Mr. Graves shakes his head slightly and taps the steering wheel. Credence can see the signs directing traffic to different parts of the airport.

“No, never,” Mr. Graves says.

Mr. Graves steers toward parking. Only once he's tucking the key into his pocket does he look over at Credence and ask, “Where are we meeting them?”

“Oh,” Credence says, softly. He blinks at Mr. Graves and then gets his phone out of his back pocket.

“Credence,” Chastity says immediately. “Are you here?”

“Yes,” he says. “Where are you? We’re parked.”

“Who’s we?” Chastity asks. “Never mind. We’re at the domestic terminal. I think.”

Credence turns to Mr. Graves and covers half his phone with his hand. “They’re at the domestic arrivals. She thinks.”

“Cool,” Mr. Graves says. “Then I think I parked in the right place.”

It turns out, of course, that they didn’t. They walk to the terminal and Credence has to call Chastity again, only for her to say, “Oh, the sign says we’re at the North Terminal.”

Hair sticks to the sweat on the back of Credence’s neck. He can feel the muscles in his jaw winding tighter as they walk from one terminal to the next. There are so many people here, plus taxis and buses and cars.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Mr. Graves says. 

He places his hand on the small of Credence’s back and, despite himself, Credence flinches.

When they finally find Chastity and Modesty, it’s not for Credence’s efforts at all. He’s walking and sweating outside the terminal doors when someone yells, “Credence!”

He looks and Modesty is there, waving her arms as high as she can reach. She grabs her red and blue suitcase — which Credence has never seen before — and runs down the sidewalk towards him.

He bends down a little, but she still grabs him around the hips for a hug.

“You’re here!” she says.

“And so are you,” Credence says. 

She doesn’t let him go exactly, but he kneels down and hugs her properly. They haven’t hugged like this in years and Credence is half tempted to just hoist her up, even though she’s too old and too big for that.

But then again, Credence has never been apart from Modesty this long before.

“I missed you so much,” she says, voice muffled against his shoulder. Both her arms are around his neck now. 

He squeezes her tight and picks her up, not as easily as he could when she was three or five, but easily enough. She laughs.

“If we’d come a little earlier you could have signed my cast,” Modesty says, putting her legs around him to hold on.

“Why did you have a cast?” he asks.

Chastity, in her long black skirt and grey sweater, answers for Modesty. “She fell down the stairs and broke her wrist.”

“She broke her wrist?” Credence asks. “Was Ma there?”

“Yeah, we were havin’ an argument,” Modesty says. “I think she thought I was gonna run away again, but I wasn’t, and then I fell.”

Credence can’t turn and look at Modesty when she has her chin tucked over his shoulder, but he can look down at Chastity.

“She ran away,” he says. “And then Ma —”

“Credence,” Chastity hisses. “We are in _public_.” 

He shuts his mouth with a click of his teeth — not because of all the strangers around them, who don’t care, but because Mr. Graves is right behind them.

“It’s good to see you,” Chastity says. “Thank you for… coming.”

“You’re welcome,” Credence says.

“Who are you?” Modesty asks.

“The driver,” Mr. Graves says.

“That’s cool,” Modesty says. “I’m Modesty.”

She tucks her elbow against the back of Credence’s neck and Credence can’t see it, but he can guess that she’s putting her hand out.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Modesty,” Mr. Graves says. “You can call me Percival.”

“Who is this?” Chastity asks, staring up at Credence. She glances just once over his shoulder at Mr. Graves.

“Percival Graves,” Credence says, though it’s strange for him to say the man’s full name. 

“But who _is_ he?” Chastity asks. 

“A friend,” Credence says.

“Is this who you’ve been living with?” she asks. 

“No,” Credence says. 

Her mouth goes very small and tight. She’s looking more at Mr. Graves than at Credence now.

“Credence,” she says.

“We’re in public, Chastity,” he says.

“And I’m parked in the hourly lot on the other side of the terminal,” Mr. Graves says.

“My apologies, sir,” Chastity says. “Thank you for lending aid to my family.”

She still looks furious, but she nods her head sharply.

“Credence, put her down,” Chastity says, reaching for Modesty’s shoulder. “She’s too old for you to carry around like a baby.”

Part of him wants to carry Modesty all the way back to the car, simply out of spite, but there’s two suitcases and a bag to carry besides. 

He sets Modesty back down on her feet.

Modesty refuses to let him take her red and blue suitcase, but Chastity hands both her bags over to Credence. He slings the backpack over his shoulder and drags her larger suitcase behind him, while Modesty clutches his hand and pulls her own suitcase.

Mr. Graves walks ahead of them and Chastity trails behind, looking at her phone instead of where she’s walking. 

“Credence,” Modesty says, while they’re in a crosswalk, “is it true that you had to leave because you like boys?” 

He freezes, even though they’re in the middle of traffic. Chastity takes two steps and stumbles into her own suitcase. Credence hears her almost swear.

“Fiddlesticks,” she says, loudly. “Credence, watch where you’re going!”

A taxi honks at them. 

“I know Ma doesn’t like it,” Modesty says. “And she says God has forsaken you, but I don’t care. I haven’t forsaken you.”

“It’s true,” Chastity says, still looking at her phone. “She tried to run off to Georgia twice already. She’s thrilled to be here.”

“Are you?” Credence asks.

Modesty nods. “Chastity said we couldn’t come until the doctor took my cast off.”

Credence has already decided to save that argument for another time and place — though preferably as soon as possible. He looks behind him all the same, but Chastity avoids looking at him. 

“So,” Modesty says. “Do you?”

“Yes,” he says, because he’s never been willing to lie to Modesty. She’s just never asked him anything like this before.

“Cool,” she says. “You should date Chris Evans.”

“Who’s that?” Credence asks. 

Mr. Graves looks over his shoulder and makes a face that Credence knows means he’s trying not laugh.

“He’s Captain America,” Modesty says. “He’s really cute. I got to see the movie at Chastity’s friend’s house and then she got me this suitcase.”

Modesty swings her suitcase around so that Credence can see it. Then she continues through the parking lot, pushing it in front of her.

“Was it the kind of movie you’re supposed to be watching?” Credence asks.

“No way!” Modesty says, delighted. “It was full of punching and explosions! It was _so_ cool.” 

“I haven’t seen it,” Credence tells her.

“We could watch it together, then,” Modesty says. “I can point out all the really good parts so you won’t miss them.”

“You sound like you’re a delight to watch movies with,” Mr. Graves says. 

“I am,” she tells him.

“It’s no limo, but there should be room for all your bags in the trunk,” Mr. Graves says. The lights on the Prius flash when he unlocks it.

After Credence opens the trunk, Modesty hoists her suitcase into it on her own.

“Is that alcohol?” she asks.

“Yes,” Credence says, because there’s a cardboard box full of Coors Light in the trunk as well as an umbrella, the car jack, and some reusable grocery bags from Kroger.

“Chastity!” Modesty happily announces. “There’s alcohol in the car.”

This finally makes her look up from her phone to scowl exactly the way Mary Lou would, until her pale eyebrows are practically touching in the middle of her forehead.

“I own a bar,” Mr. Graves says. “If you have a problem with that, you can always find another ride.”

He smiles then and Modesty giggles.

“He owns a bar,” she repeats.

“Yes,” Credence says, tossing in the last bag and closing the trunk.

Chastity’s nostrils flare a little and her scowls turns into something wide-eyed and angry. She doesn’t say anything, but she looks at Credence. For a moment, he swallows down acrid fear.

Then he thinks: What is she going to do? Really?

He smirks a little and turns to help Modesty into the car. He can hear Chastity talking with Mr. Graves, explaining the address she needs to get to.

“I know the area,” Credence hears him say. “It’s a long drive.”

“Can we get something to eat?” Modesty asks and Credence doesn’t know if she’s asking him or if she’s overhearing the same conversation. Modesty buckles her own seatbelt and Credence tests it with a tug at the latch. Out of habit, he slides into the seat beside her and shuts the door. The front seat is pushed all the way back and now he has no leg room — his own doing.

Mr. Graves gets into the driver’s seat. He smiles a little at Credence over his shoulder. Then he leans over the front seat and yanks on the level to adjust it. Suddenly Credence has all the legroom he could need.

“Modesty was wondering if there’s time to get something to eat,” Credence says. 

“Sure,” Mr. Graves says, without so much as looking at the time. “How hungry are you?”

He looks at Credence, but Modesty is eager to answer, “I’m starving!”

“Modesty,” Chastity hisses. “You can eat when we get to Philip’s family’s house.”

“But I haven’t eaten since we left the apartment,” she says.

“Chastity,” Credence says. “I’ll pay. It’s not a problem.”

“You don’t even have a job,” Chastity says.

“Yes, I do,” Credence says.

The car starts to reverse out of the parking spot before Chastity has even buckled herself into the seat directly behind Mr. Graves.

“None of the food near the airport is very good,” Mr. Graves says. “But it’s my treat.”

“That’s very generous of you, sir, but we really can’t accept that,” Chastity says.

For some reason this makes Mr. Graves look over his shoulder at Credence, who then looks at his sisters.

“What do you think, Modesty?” Mr. Graves asks. “What would you like to eat?”

“I want a cheeseburger,” she says. “Thank you.”

“I think there’s a Ruby Tuesday’s around here,” he says. “Or a McDonald’s, if you want.”

“Whichever you pick would be fine, Mr. Percival,” she says. “It’s your money.”

“A piece of advice,” he says, as they maneuver through the parking lot, “if someone offers to pay, you should always pick the more expensive option.”

“Isn’t that rude?” Modesty asks.

“No,” Mr. Graves says.

“Yes,” Credence says.

Modesty tilts her head to the side and looks at Credence out of the corner of her eye, as though she doesn’t quite know who to believe.

“It’s rude to take advantage of people,” Credence tells her. “It’s more than rude, you know that.”

“Fine,” she says, but only after a moment of quiet that Credence doesn’t appreciate. It’s as though she really had to think about it. He doesn’t like that.

Mr. Graves leans out his window to pay for the parking and then they drive in circles to escape the airport.

“Credence,” Modesty whispers. She touches his arm when she looks down at him.

“Why are we whispering?” he asks, just as softly.

“Because,” she says. “I have a question.”

“What is it?” he asks.

“Does Mr. Percival own the bar that you went to the night that you left us?” she whispers.

Credence feels his tongue sticking to the roof his mouth. He doesn’t want to lie to her. She’s staring up at him, but he glances away. As far as he can tell, Mr. Graves isn’t paying attention. But Chastity certainly is. She catches his eye and then nudges Modesty with her shoulder.

“Don’t talk about that,” she hisses, just as quiet as their whispers.

“But we’re not in public anymore,” Modesty says. Her annoyance makes her voice louder. Her solemn expression twists into a pout.

“When am I supposed to say anything?” she asks even louder. 

“You can say anything you want,” Mr. Graves interrupts. “My car, my rules.”

“No,” Chastity says. “Modesty, this is a family matter. We can talk about it when it’s just us.”

“That’s never gonna happen,” Modesty says. “This is so stupid.”

“It is not stupid,” Chastity says. “This is not something to talk about in front of strangers.”

“I don’t care,” Credence says. Chastity’s face reacts with a flinch.

“The answer is yes,” he says, looking at Modesty. 

“I missed the question,” Mr. Graves says. “Care to fill me in?”

Chastity looks a little bit like her eyes are going to pop out of her head if she clenches her jaw any harder. Her cheeks turn splotchy red. She grabs Modesty’s wrist and Credence reaches across Modesty’s lap to pry her hand off.

“Stop it,” Chastity hisses. “Both of you.”

“Shut up,” Credence tells her.

“Credence,” she says, “I don’t want her embarrassing us in front of a stranger.”

“You’re the one being embarrassing,” he says.

“Fine,” she says, yanking her hand away and crossing her arms over her chest.

“I just wanted to know if Credence goes to bars,” Modesty says, once the storm has past. She rubs her wrist with one hand. 

“Does he go to your bar, Mr. Percival?”

“Yes,” Mr. Graves says. “But he doesn’t drink and you shouldn’t either.”

Modesty snorts. “Duh.”

Credence feels somewhat relieved when they finally make a turn and pull into the parking lot for the restaurant. The very short drive has felt like a full hour of his life, even though it wasn’t.

“Alright,” Mr. Graves says. “We’re here.”

Credence unbuckles Modesty’s seatbelt before his own only to be told, “I can do that myself, Credence.”

It's embarrassing only because Mr. Graves _and_ Chastity both turn to look at him. 

“You're right,” he says. “I'm sorry.”

“It's fine,” Modesty tells him with a smile.

Credence holds the door for her while Chastity stares at him over the roof of the car. He knows that she wants to say something, but she won’t. Whatever it is, Credence knows he doesn’t want to hear it. Mr. Graves looks at him too. Credence looks away from both of them as he closes the car door and takes Modesty’s hand as they head into the restaurant.

“Good afternoon, welcome to Ruby Tuesday’s,” a petite girl with tightly curly hair says. “For four?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Modesty says. Credence’s answer feels like a quiet echo of hers.

The restaurant is busier than Credence would have expected in the middle of the afternoon, but the hostess counts out four menus and leads them to a booth closed in by green dividing walls. It’s not until she looks to Credence to ask if this table is alright that he realizes that there are no good seating arrangements.

Not that Credence even gets a say in the seating arrangements.

“This is fine,” Chastity tells the hostess, then she sweeps in beside Modesty and says, “Sit on the inside, I don’t want you running off.”

Modesty rolls her eyes, but she lets go of Credence’s hand. 

“After you,” Mr. Graves says, gesturing to the other side of the table.

A full menu is already propped up in front of Modesty’s face.

Credence spares a glance at Chastity before he slides into the booth. 

Not a single person at the table has a chance to speak before a woman with her braided hair pulled back into a tidy bun approaches them and asks about what they want to drink. She introduces herself, but Credence would have missed her name if she didn’t have a tag on her shirt.

“Water, please miss,” Chastity says. 

“I want a coke!” Modesty says. 

Chastity turns and looks at her, so Modesty tacks on a quick, “Please!”

“No coke,” she says. “You can have a clear soda. You don’t need caffeine.”

“But I want a coke,” Modesty says. “And you’re not the one paying for it.”

“Modesty,” Chastity says.

“Fine,” she says. “Can I have a clear soda, miss?”

“We’ve got Sprite, honey,” the waitress — the tag reads Shoshanna — says. “But if you like sweet things, we’ve also got a couple kinds of lemonade: peach, strawberry, raspberry, mango and —”

“Can I have strawberry lemonade?” Modesty asks, her eyes a little wider.

“Of course you can, honey,” Shoshanna says. She smiles and the dark color of her lipstick really brings out the blue-white of her teeth. Months ago, Credence thought people just looked like that, but now he knows that what he’s seeing took a lot of hard work. Even under the dim lights of the restaurant, the waitresses whole face seems to glow like bronze.

“I like your highlighter,” Credence says, after asking for a coke. 

“Thank you, sugar,” Shoshanna says, smiling at him. 

Mr. Graves orders water and the waitress calls him “sir.”

“Are y’all ready to order?” she asks. “Or do ya want me to come back in a minute?”

Modesty looks ready to speak up, when Chastity says, “That would be fine, miss. Thank you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Shoshanna says. “I’ll be right back with the drinks.”

“I want a cheeseburger,” Modesty says. 

“What kind of cheeseburger?” Mr. Graves asks her. “The bacon triple prime is alright — certainly better than fast food.”

Modesty looks at him and her mouth forms the tight line of a suppressed smile. When Credence glances at Mr. Graves, he’s definitely smirking. It reminds Credence of the first time Mr. Graves handed him a drink, which is worrisome.

“Credence,” Chastity interrupts. “What’s a highlighter?”

She looks angry, and Credence already knows what she’ll say. 

“It’s makeup,” he tells her.

She blinks. “How do you know that?”

Credence looks down at his menu. “One of my housemates wears it sometimes.”

The truth is that Seraphina Picquery is the woman Credence knows who wears the most makeup and she wears highlighter nearly every night of the week. She’s the one who told him what it was when he finally worked up the courage to ask her how the light always seemed to reflect off her face. In comparison, Queenie says the ovens at the bakery melt her face off within an hour if she wears anything more than waterproof eyeliner and some lipstick. 

“A woman?” Chastity asks.

“I live with two couples,” Credence says. He’s fairly sure he’s told her all of this before.

Chastity still looks upset. Credence wonders if he’s forgotten what she really looks like — maybe this is just her face? Still, it upsets him to see her look at him with the whites of her eyes so visible.

“Queenie and Jacob are married,” Credence says. “They own the house we live in. Tina is Queenie’s sister and Newt has been friends with Jacob and Queenie since they moved here.”

“ _Newt_?” Chastity echoes. “Are they married as well? This Tina and Newt?” 

“No,” Credence says, watching Chastity’s eyes get even wider somehow.

“Can we go to your house, Credence?” Modesty asks. “Please? I wanna meet Queenie. I like her name.”

“I’d like that,” Credence says. “Queenie is the one who wears highlighter.”

“Do you think she’d show me how to do makeup?” Modesty asks.

“Absolutely,” Credence tells her. “Queenie loves makeup.”

“Modesty,” Chastity says. “You know the rules about makeup.”

Modesty groans. “We’re not there anymore. There oughta be new rules.”

“That rule is a good one,” Chastity says. “It protects us.”

“Everybody wears makeup, though,” Modesty says. “It’s not a big deal. I could just _learn_ how, I don’t gotta wear it all the time.” 

“It’s a bad habit,” Chastity says, “and a trap of sin.”

“It’s not that big a deal, Chastity,” Credence says. He picks at the corner of his menu with his left hand.

“I’ve worn makeup and it’s not like I died,” he says.

Credence avoids looking at Chastity again, which means he gets to watch Modesty’s face react as though Mr. Graves just offered to buy her a pony.

“You wore makeup?” she asks, voice quiet with awe.

“Yes,” he says. He can’t help but smile.

Modesty smacks her hand lightly against the table. “I’m gonna live with you, Credence.”

“No,” Chastity says, instantly.

“There’s not enough space,” Credence says. “You’d have to share a couch with me.”

“That’s fine,” Modesty says. “I don’t care. I’ll sleep on the floor if I don’t have to follow any more stupid rules.”

“The rule aren’t stupid, Modesty,” Chastity says, just as Shoshanna returns with a tray full of drinks. 

“We’re not being too loud, are we?” Mr. Graves asks her.

“No, sir,” she says. “You’re all good — and this corner is pretty isolated.”

“Thank you,” he says.

“Enjoy your drinks,” she says. “And let me know how you like that strawberry lemonade, honey.”

Modesty smiles at her and Credence resolves to add to whatever tip Mr. Graves chooses to leave.

The appearance of a stranger leaves Chastity quiet. Credence looks up and finds her staring at her menu chewing on her lips. Her whole face looks tense with concentration and it doesn’t look like she’s been sleeping well.

“I’m gonna get the bacon cheeseburger,” Modesty says.

“That’s too much food for you,” Chastity says without looking up. “You can split it with Credence.”

Modesty sighs. “Fine.”

“I’m happy to share with you,” Credence says. “You want a sip of my coke?”

“Credence,” Chastity says, but she doesn’t move to stop him when he pushes his soda across the table toward Modesty. In return, Modesty pushes her lemonade over to him. It’s unexpectedly tart, with a few actual chunks of fruit squished against the side of glass by all the ice. Credence doesn’t drink more than small swallow before handing it back. 

“I think I’ll just get the salad bar,” Chastity says. “If that’s alright with you, sir?”

She looks to Mr. Graves like she expects him to tell her no and Credence feels offended on his behalf.

“Get whatever you want,” Mr. Graves says. He waves his hand and then brings it down on the seat beside Credence’s thigh.

“I like salad,” Chastity says. 

Credence remembers her crying over peas and carrots as a child, but if she wants to lie about something as small as this he won’t stop her. Maybe she really does like salad now. She certainly tries to sound convincing.

“You should get some protein with that,” Mr. Graves says. “I mean, don’t let me tell you what to do, but Modesty makes it sound as though you’ve been traveling for some time.”

“It’s not bad, sir,” Chastity says. “I mean, things have worked out for the best, haven’t they?”

“I don’t think I can be the judge of that,” Mr. Graves says. “My day’s going just fine.”

When he half-smiles at Chastity, she ducks her head back to the menu.

“My day’s going to be a lot better when I have a bacon cheeseburger,” Modesty says.

This makes Mr. Graves laugh, and Modesty grins at him. 

When Shoshanna returns to take their orders, she tells Chastity that she can serve herself from the salad bar at the center of the restaurant. She asks her if she wants any of the extras, from shrimp to avocado, but Chastity refuses it all.

“I’ll have the triple prime bacon cheeseburger,” Modesty says. “Please, miss.”

“That comes with cheddar cheese,” Shoshanna. “Is that what you want, honey?”

“Yes, miss!” Modesty says.

“And how would you like it cooked?” Shoshanna asks.

Modesty blinks. She looks at Credence, first, and then at Mr. Graves. 

“Do you like your burger to be a little pink inside or brown all the way through?” Mr. Graves asks her.

Credence isn’t sure if she fully understands that, but Modesty says, “Oh, I like pink.”

“Medium,” Mr. Graves tells the waitress. “That’s probably a safe bet. We’ll have three of the same.”

“Sure thing, sir,” Shoshanna says. “Anything else I can get you right now?”

“We’ll have to see about dessert after the kid tackles her burger,” Mr. Graves says.

Shoshanna smiles. “She’s adorable. Is she your daughter?”

“No,” Mr. Graves says.

Shoshanna covers her mouth and says, “I am _so_ sorry, sir.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Mr. Graves says. “They’re all family. I’m... just the driver.”

“Oh,” Shoshanna says. “Airport pick up? I thought y’all didn’t sound like you’re from around here.”

“You are very polite,” Mr. Graves says. “Yes, we’re all a bunch of obnoxious yankees, but I’ve been here a few years already.”

“Well,” Shoshanna says, smiling, “enjoy your time in Atlanta. I’ll be back with your burgers.”

After Chastity gets up with a quick “Excuse me,” Credence lets Modesty have another sip of his coke.

“If you visit me, I'm sure Queenie would teach you about makeup,” Credence says.

“Queenie sounds nice,” Modesty says. “And she's married, right? So she might have a baby.”

“I don't think she plans to have a baby any time soon,” Credence says, having been privy to more than one conversation about the Goldstein sisters’ IUDs. “But she has a bakery.”

“A bakery?” Modesty asks. “What kind of bakery? Like the weird kind or the tasty kind?”

“They make pie, mostly,” Credence says.

“Weird pie?”

“Fruit pie,” Credence tells her. “Well, mostly fruit. Some other things too, but it's good.”

“Okay, as long as there's nothing with zucchini or hot peppers or _yams_ ,” Modesty says. 

“You never got anything from those bakeries anyway, Modesty,” Credence says. “Maybe yam is delicious in cake.”

Modesty makes a face that Credence can only smile about. For a moment, he misses New York — its intensity and size and the crush of so many people squeezed onto Long Island. 

“Sweet potatoes are kind of like yams, aren't they?” Mr. Graves asks.

It startles Credence right out of his nostalgia.

“Perhaps,” Credence says.

“Sweet potato pie is delicious,” Mr. Graves tells them both.

Modesty looks unconvinced. “It's a potato, it doesn’t go in a pie.”

“But it's sweet,” Mr. Graves says, “and you add lots of sugar and cream and eggs and spices to it. It's like pumpkin pie but sweeter.”

Modesty squints. “I like pumpkin pie.”

“Maybe you'd like sweet potato pie, then,” Credence says.

“Maybe I would,” Modesty says. “I’d at least pretend to like it if your friend Queenie did my makeup.”

Credence laughs a little himself. “Just as long as you wash it off before Chas sees you.”

Modesty smiles at him in a way that makes Credence’s ribs hurt. And she keeps smiling even when Chastity slides in beside her with a plate piled high in what is probably vegetables. It’s hard to tell, really, under all of the shredded cheese and dressing.

“Do you mind if I start eating, sir?” she asks.

“Don’t go hungry on my account,” Mr. Graves tells her. 

“Thank you,” she says, before turning her plate slightly.

There’s a small pile of cherry tomatoes, mostly untouched by salad dressing, tucked into one part of the plate.

“Modesty, you can have these,” she says. “Just don’t let the waitress see you, or Mr. Graves will have to pay extra.”

“Cool,” Modesty says. “Thank you, Chas.”

Chastity frowns slightly at the shortening of her name, but she picks up her fork and starts eating. Modesty grabs a tomato with her fingers and pops it in her mouth.

When Credence looks over at Mr. Graves, he has his elbow propped up on the table and his knuckles just brush his chin. Credence tries to sit up a little straighter, unsure what Mr. Graves could be thinking about his sisters.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Percival,” Modesty says, while chewing. “I’m really sneaky.”

“I’m sure you are,” Mr. Graves says.

Chastity chews and swallows before she says, “Don’t speak with food in your mouth, Modesty.”

Something about her tone — and the way Modesty ducks her head when chastised — makes Credence say, “Does Ma know where you went?”

“Yes,” Chastity says. “I left her a note.”

Credence looks at his sister and she stares back at him with her mouth in a hard line.

“She hasn’t called me yet,” Chastity says. “I don’t know if she will.”

“What about Modesty?” Credence asks.

“That’s not going to be an issue,” she says.

“How do you know?” Credence asks. “Is this even legal? You crossed state lines with her.”

It’s probably kidnapping, he thinks.

“Yes,” Chastity says. “I’m her legal guardian. Ma won’t make an issue of it.”

“What?” Credence asks.

Chastity takes another bite of her salad rather than answer him.

“Since when have you been her guardian?” he asks.

She wipes her mouth before she speaks and doesn’t look up from her plate. “It was about four years ago, because Ma was travelling so much for the ministry and she was concerned… Well, she had concerns, Credence. That’s all.”

She sighs. “I brought all the paperwork with me. Modesty’s, mine, and yours.”

“Mine?” Credence asks.

“Yes,” she says. “It’s in my luggage. I don’t know if I have everything, but Ma kept most of it together in one place, all our court and medical records.”

“You have my medical records?” Credence asks.

“Yes,” Chastity says. “And that’s why Ma isn’t going to make an issue of me leaving.”

She looks at him then, a hard, wide-eyed stare that seals his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

“Anyway,” she says. “You can have all of your things, obviously.”

“Thank you, Chastity,” he says, and he means it.

In the quiet that falls between them, Modesty reaches over and takes another tomato from Chastity’s plate.

“So, Chastity,” Mr. Graves says, “Credence mentioned that you’re engaged. Have you picked a date yet?”

Chastity blinks. “Well, Philip and I need to take some classes with our church and there’s paperwork, but I was hoping for a date in June.”

“That’s the usual season,” Mr. Graves says, “as I understand it.”

“We’re planning a ceremony at the church, of course,” Chastity says. “Faith is very important to Philip and myself. But there will probably be a small reception afterwards at Philip’s family’s home. Family is also very important to us.”

“Understandable,” Mr. Graves says.

“Do you… go to church, sir?” Chastity asks.

“Not usually,” Mr. Graves says.

“Well, Credence will be attending church with me and you’d be welcome to come,” Chastity says. “I’ll be joining the same church that Philip’s family attends. It’s a very welcoming community.”

“I usually spend some time with Credence on Sundays,” Mr. Graves says. “But I also work very late. I’m not much for mornings.”

Chastity glances to the side. “Credence, stop making that face.”

“I’m not making a face,” he says. 

She makes a face at him. “Well, sir, it’s only your salvation at stake, but I understand that’s not a priority for everyone.”

Now, Credence would say he’s making a face.

Thankfully, Mr. Graves gets Chastity talking more about her wedding plans and eventually Shoshanna appears with three very large bacon cheeseburgers.

“Wow,” Modesty says, staring down a tower of a burger.

“You cannot eat all of that,” Chastity says.

“Watch me,” Modesty tells her.

Mr. Graves laughs slightly and his hand brushes Credence’s thigh under the table.

With a steak knife, Chastity cuts Modesty’s burger into quarters. Modesty offers Chastity some of her fries, and Credence takes some of his own and puts them on Modesty’s plate. Credence cuts his own burger in half just in case he cannot finish all of it.

Shoshanna stops by again to ask them how the food is at the exact moment Credence has a mouthful of cheeseburger. So does Modesty, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to answer.

Credence’s elbow keeps bumping into Mr. Graves’ when they eat. Credence looks over and sees the corner of Mr. Graves’ mouth twitch upwards, as though he’s doing it on purpose.

Mr. Graves somehow gets Chastity talking about how much she loves chrysanthemums. She even says something that Credence thinks might be critical of her mother when describing her engagement ring.

“Of course I couldn’t wear it around Ma,” she says, “but I’ll be able to wear it now.”

Modesty gets through less than half of her burger, but picks off the other pieces of bacon before she pushes her plate over to Chastity.

“There’s some tomatoes left for you,” Chastity says, switching their plates.

“Would you like some of my fries?” Mr. Graves asks Credence.

“Aren’t you going to eat them?” he asks. 

Mr. Graves shrugs.

“Credence,” Modesty says, “you should let me help you find a boyfriend.”

Chastity coughs. “Modesty, we’re in public.”

“Whatever,” Modesty says. She leans her elbows on the table and looks intently at Credence.

“I helped Chastity meet Philip,” she says. “Cause Philip’s got a daughter who’s older than me but she’s pretty cool and if I hadn’t met her then Chastity wouldn’t have met Philip, so it’s all because of me. I’m really good at finding boyfriends.”

“Thank you,” Credence says, “but I don’t need the help.”

He’s going to ask Chastity about Philip’s daughter — a small detail she hadn’t mentioned herself — at some point when they aren’t in a restaurant.

“You already have a boyfriend?” Modesty asks.

What Credence means to tell her is, “No, and it’s not any of your business.”

But Modesty looks at him with so much hope and expectation. He opens his mouth and says, “Yes.”

“Holy shit,” Modesty says.

“Modesty!” Chastity says. “We do not speak like that."

“Who is it?” Modesty asks. “Can I meet him? Is he tall? Philip is really tall. He’s probably taller than you, Credence.”

There is a part of Credence that wonders, after he’s told the truth, whether he could just turn it into a lie. He could tell Modesty that he was only joking. Maybe he could say that Newt and he — no, he already said that Newt and Tina are a couple.

“It’s him,” Chastity says.

She looks at Mr. Graves and then at Credence. “Isn’t it, Credence?”

Credence feels like swallowing his tongue.

“Mr. Percival?” Modesty asks. “But he’s old.”

“I’ll apologize if I’m wrong,” Chastity says. “But I’m not wrong.”

“No,” Credence says. “You’re not wrong.”

His voice sounds like it’s being squeezed out of him. He stares at Chastity simply because the thought of looking over at Mr. Graves makes him feel like he’ll throw up. His stomach cramps. Maybe there’s food caught in his throat.

“Well, then,” Chastity says. “I am glad we got that out of the way.”

She doesn’t look or sound glad, but Credence expected more of a reaction somehow — screaming or yelling or at least a comment about how he was going to Hell. Instead Chastity picks her napkin up out of her lap and wipes her mouth. She looks down at her plate and pokes at a french fry.

“Chris Evans is cuter than you,” Modesty tells Mr. Graves.

“I can’t argue with that,” Mr. Graves says. “And Credence certainly deserves someone of that caliber.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Modesty says.

“He deserves someone cuter,” Mr. Graves says. 

“Oh,” Modesty says. “Then, yeah, of course he does. I’m glad we agree, Mr. Percival.”

“Do I get points for buying you a cheeseburger at least?” he asks.

Modest smiles a little. “You can have two points.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Graves says. “And now I know that bribery is effective on you.”

Modesty laughs at that. 

Chastity stays very quiet and Credence still feels sick to his stomach, even when Mr. Graves touches his shoulder in a way that he usually likes. At least Modesty seems to be having a nice time.

After Mr. Graves pays the bill and Credence adds an extra ten dollars to the twenty-percent tip he knows Mr. Graves will leave, they all get back in the car together.

The area where Chastity’s fiancé’s family lives turns out not to be too far from Mr. Graves’ own neighborhood. It’s all the same town of Roswell north of Atlanta — a very long drive from the airport. Chastity manages to say almost nothing the whole time. She sits with her arms crossed and looks out the window.

Mr. Graves slows the car to a stop in front of a house that might be as big as his own, but this one has a fenced yard rather than a screened-in porch.

“Is this it?” he asks.

Chastity turns and looks past Credence. She’s quiet for a long moment.

“I think so,” she says.

Then, “Credence, help me with the bags.”

Chastity already has a key to this house, but her hands fumble with the locks. Modesty carries her own suitcase, while Credence drags Chastity’s large suitcase into the house behind him.

“Why don’t you put your things upstairs, Modesty?” Chastity says. “There should be a room with your name on it.”

“My own room?” Modesty asks.

“You’ll have to share it with me until I’m married,” Chastity says, “but yes, it will be your room.”

“Cool,” Modesty says.

She drags her suitcase up the stairs with a series of thumps. Then at the top of the stairs, she stops and leans against the railing. 

“Don’t be mean to Credence!” she declares. “I know you’re gonna talk about secrets or whatever, but don’t be mean!”

“I’m not mean,” Chastity snaps. She adjusts her arms across her chest.

“You can leave my bags by the stairs,” she says. 

Then she walks away and Credence knows she expects him to follow her. She obviously has no idea where anything in the house is, but they find their way into the kitchen after she opens one door to a broom closet and another that leads down to a basement. 

“Credence,” she says.

“Chastity,” he says.

She stares at him, but he looks at the white-painted doors on the cupboards instead.

“Philip’s family has been very generous to me,” she says, “and I’m sure they would welcome you with open arms.”

Credence looks at the faucet on the kitchen sink and thinks it looks like one of the touch-activated ones.

“I think you should stay with us,” Chastity says. “It’s obvious you’re unhappy —”

“I’m not,” Credence says.

He glances at Chastity and sees her frown.

“Well, the way that man touches you, I just can’t help but think —”

“What?” Credence asks.

Now he looks at Chastity and she’s the one who looks at the cupboards.

“You’ve never let people touch you like that before,” Chastity says. “It was obvious there was something going on between you and that man, and I… I am just concerned, Credence, I want you to know that you have somewhere safe to go.”

“What are you talking about?” Credence says. His shoulders ache and the muscles at the back of his neck feel hard with tension.

“That man is clearly abusing you, Credence,” she says. 

“Chastity,” he says, “what the _fuck_.” 

When she looks at him, her eyes are red and wet. “Don’t swear at me, Credence. I’m worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” he says. “Were you worried about Modesty when Ma broke her arm?”

“Of course I was!” Chastity snaps. “That’s why I left.”

“Yeah, after the cast came off,” Credence says.

“She needed to heal,” Chastity says. “I don’t have the money to take her to a doctor by myself.”

“What if it had been worse?” Credence asks. He steps closer to Chastity, but she leans away from him. He steps back.

“I know what Ma is like,” Chastity says. “Don’t act like I don’t know, because I do.”

“Mr. Graves doesn’t break little girls’ arms,” Credence says. “If that’s what you think.”

“You call him Mr. Graves?” Chastity asks. “And that’s — Credence, you know it’s not just — is he hurting you in other ways?”

Credence shuts his eyes against the sour, horrible anger that wells up from his stomach into his throat. He breathes in through his nose and then out, his jaw tense. His back hurts.

“Percival,” he says. 

“Doesn’t do anything to me,” he says.

“That I don’t want him to.”

“But Credence,” Chastity says.

“Chastity,” he says, loud enough to drown out anything she might.

Chastity shrinks back with her arms in front of her face. She flinches with her whole body, cowering.

“Chastity,” he says, softly.

Credence realizes that his arms are up. He lowers them. He takes a step back. When did he get so close to her?

“I’m sorry, Chas,” he says.

“I’m fine,” she says. Her arms drop to her sides and her face takes on that wide-eyed, angry look.

“I’m just worried about you,” she says. When she blinks, a tear rolls down her cheek. She lifts a hand and quickly scrubs it away.

“I’m fine,” Credence says. 

In the silence, Chastity sniffs wetly. He watches her rub her face with both hands again. Her cheeks and nose have turned very red, but her mouth seems pale. She looks like she wants to be crying properly — or not crying at all. Instead, she’s stuck somewhere in between. She looks scared, Credence realizes.

“I’m better than fine, actually,” he says. “I’m going to take the SAT soon and hopefully go to college next year. I’ve been building websites to make money.”

Chastity sniffs again. She looks at him and rubs her nose.

“The friends I live with are — I actually think you’d like Queenie, even if she wears makeup,” Credence says. “And Percival is — you’re marrying someone who already has a kid.”

“Philip has a daughter, yes,” Chastity says. “She’s ten.”

“And Philip?” Credence asks.

“He’s younger than your Percival,” Chastity says. 

“I’d like you to meet him.”

“I’d like to meet him,” Credence says, “and I’m glad you met Percival.”

“I don’t like him,” Chastity says. 

“Well, I do,” Credence says. “I like him.”

He smiles a little to himself while Chastity frowns.

“You should say goodbye to Modesty before you go,” Chastity says.

The room upstairs has a painted wood sign with little flowers made of ribbon glued to it. It says “Modesty.” Credence can’t help but smile. He hopes they let her take the sign if Philip and Chastity move out. He’s glad Modesty is staying here. In New York, she shared a room with him. She’s getting too old to have to share with anyone.

Credence knocks on the door.

“Come in, Chas,” Modesty says.

Credence opens the door and finds Modesty sitting on the bed with her suitcase open beside her.

“Oh,” she says. “It’s you. Are you leaving?”

“For now,” Credence says.

“But I’m gonna see you, right?” Modesty asks. “And I can meet Queenie and she’ll teach me about makeup and we’ll eat pie?”

“Yes,” Credence says. “We’ll do that as soon as possible, I promise.”

“Can I have a hug?” Modesty asks. “Before you leave again.”

He sits down on the bed beside her and they easily fall into a hug. Credence thinks of all the years once she was out of her crib when she would climb out of her twin bed and into his. He remembers a time long before that when he shared a bed with Chastity, who kicked in her sleep. Does she still do that? Does her future husband know? 

“I want to live with you,” Modesty says, her face pressed against Credence’s shirt.

“But you’ve got your own bed,” Credence says. “And a sign on your door — this whole room is yours.”

“Yeah, but I’ve gotta share with Chas so she doesn’t have premarital sex,” Modesty says.

Credence wants to laugh, but doesn’t. “I doubt that will last.”

“Yeah, me too,” Modesty says. “But I still wanna live with you.”

Credence squeezes her once and then twice. He can’t say anything to this. He doesn’t have a house. He doesn’t even have a bed. Those things seem so distant that Credence’s tongue is paralyzed in his mouth. He can’t promise her a future that still feels impossible to himself. 

“I have to go,” Credence says.

“Yeah, your boyfriend’s waiting for you,” Modesty says, sighing. She lets him go before he lets go of her.

Downstairs, Chastity waits for him at the front door. For a moment, she holds her arms up but then quickly crosses them over her chest.

“I’m going to get a local number as soon as I can,” she says. “I’ll send it to you.”

“Alright,” Credence says.

“We can work on a visitation schedule,” Chastity says. “You’re welcome to join Philip and I on Sundays.”

Credence doesn’t know what to say to that and he still feels choked up from Modesty’s pleas.

“Percival is waiting for me,” he says, finally.

Chastity steps aside and opens the door.

“God bless,” she says.

“God bless,” Credence says.

Outside, the sun shines and the afternoon is pleasantly warm. It’s probably ten degrees colder in New York right now — and raining. But today is almost too warm for Credence to be wearing a tie. He heads down the steps and out to Mr. Graves’ waiting car.

When the door opens, he thinks of Modesty calling Mr. Graves “your boyfriend” and feels his throat close up again.

“Do you want me to drop you off somewhere?” Mr. Graves asks. “Or do you wanna head into Magic tonight? I don’t know what your plans for the day were.”

Credence swallows.

“I don’t have any,” he says. He glances at Mr. Graves and then quickly looks away. 

“Plans,” he adds to clarify. After he buckles his seatbelt, Credence holds onto his knees to keep his hands from shaking.

“I must say, this was a lot more exciting than inventory,” Mr. Graves says.

Guilt makes Credence’s heart sink. He knew there was no way that his problems wouldn’t inconvenience someone, but the past few hours have felt like disaster layered upon disaster.

“Thank you,” Credence says, even though his throat is tight. “For all of this.”

Mr. Graves reaches out and puts his hand on Credence’s shoulder. Then gently takes it away when Credence nearly jumps out of skin at a touch.

“Hey,” he says.

Credence should look at him, but he looks at an old scar on his knuckles instead.

“I’m glad I could help you and your sisters,” Mr. Graves says. “I’m glad you… I don’t know if it was trust or not, but I’m happy I could help.”

Mr. Graves shifts the car out of park and pulls away from the house where Credence’s sisters now live.

“Want me to take you back to my place?” Mr. Graves asks. “I’ve still got to work, but you could have the whole house to yourself. It’s close. I’ve probably seen your future in-laws at Kroger.”

Credence wonders idly if he’s getting carsick or if there’s something else making him feel like he might throw up.

“I’m fine,” Credence says.

After a couple of blocks, he says, “I could help with the inventory.”

“Mmm,” Mr. Graves says. “You’re not an employee, though, that would be unethical as shit.”

“Can I volunteer?” Credence asks.

Mr. Graves hums again. “Fucking the volunteers is probably also unethical, but I suppose if you really want to count up cases of beer.”

“I want to help,” Credence says.

He feels safe looking at Mr. Graves when he knows the man has to pay attention to the traffic around him.

“Alright,” Mr. Graves says. “If you insist, but you could just hang out like you usually do. Everyone likes having you around.”

“Should I come with Newt again tomorrow?” Credence asks.

“Of course,” Mr. Graves says. “You’re welcome any day of the week.”

He smiles without looking away from the road and Credence feels something between his shoulders relax.

The drive back into Atlanta takes plenty of time. Mr. Graves tunes the radio to his favorite classical station, but keeps the volume low. Credence could easily speak over the music. He doesn’t want to.

“I could get used to having you at the bar two days in a row,” Mr. Graves says, as he merges onto 85.

When they eventually get to Magic, Credence recognizes Seraphina Picquery’s car outside. Still, it’s only a few minutes after 4 p.m. and Mr. Graves has to use his keys to get in. There’s jarring electronic music playing and all the lights are on, which makes Magic seem sort of alien. Mr. Graves makes a face at the music.

Credence goes quietly to find the heavy black binder under the bar where Mr. Graves takes all his notes for inventory. They have an iPad and a specific app, but Credence doesn’t know the code to unlock the iPad and Mr. Graves never uses it anyway. Seraphina set it up, according to Mr. Graves. Credence has never seen her use it either.

“I like to do things the old-fashioned way,” he says regularly. Newt — and plenty of other people too — likes to point out that it’s because he’s old. Credence finds it charming. 

“What the Hell, Sera, is Abernathy working tonight?” Mr. Graves says. 

Credence lingers to overhear them. One of the two Davids who work as servers pauses in setting up the tables and looks at Mr. Graves and Seraphina.

She rolls her eyes.

“Zhou called to say she’s sick and he’s the only one of our regular DJs who was available tonight,” she says. “Paloma has a regular gig at that place with the shitty gin martinis and everyone else was booked or busy.”

Mr. Graves makes another face. “How sick is she?”

“Kidney infection,” Seraphina says. “Not that it’s any of your business. Sometimes people get sick and don’t come to work — well, people who aren’t you, Perce.”

“Couldn’t you have handled the music tonight?” he asks.

“No,” Seraphina says, and he stops arguing with her. But he still looks annoyed.

When Mr. Graves comes behind the bar, he looks surprised to find Credence holding the inventory log.

“You really want to do this?” he asks. His hand slides across the small of Credence’s back and Credence leans into the touch. All his nerves seem to leave him behind whenever he’s at Magic.

“You could just hang out at the bar, if you want,” Mr. Graves says.

“I like having something to do,” Credence says.

“Seraphina will want to pay you,” Mr. Graves says.

Credence shrugs. “If you need me, I’ll be in the back.”

In the storage area behind the bar, Credence can shut the door and smother the sound of Chainsmokers remixes. He turns on the weak fluorescent light and listens to the hum of the large refrigerators. He opens the inventory log and fishes the pen out by the string that ties it to the rings of the binder. 

Credence writes his name and date at the top of the first blank sheet. His handwriting is a little too big for the space provided, but thankfully he doesn’t have to write much out. He’s just putting in numbers.

The backroom is well organized and tidy. It’s also cool and slightly damp. Mr. Graves wipes the racks down with Clorox fairly often because he hates how mold grows in “the South,” as though New York City isn’t full of mildewed bathrooms and musty bodegas. 

Credence moves along the racks checking for sealed cases and opened ones. Then again. It’s repetitive and almost as mindlessly relaxing as cleaning. He marks down the number of Coors and Heineken and even Budweiser. Everything is spelled out on the printed sheet, so while Credence doesn’t know what the numbers are he can’t mix up Bud Light Lime with Bud Light Lime-a-rita.

On a separate rack, there’s also a smaller number of craft beers that Credence thinks probably don’t taste any different from the big name brands. But he doesn’t know and he doesn’t really care. He marks down the number of cases — plus the number of bottles in the opened cases. 

He tries not to move anything. Mr. Graves already keeps it all tidy and well organized. 

He wonders absently if he should have brought his SAT book. He usually brings something to read on Thursdays. He also doesn’t have his phone charger, but there’s a spare in the drawer next to the register at the front door. If he had an iPhone, Credence could just use the same charging station that Seraphina and Mr. Graves use under the bar. 

At some point, the music outside goes quiet. Then it comes back louder. The hum of the fridges disappears. 

Credence holds the fridge doors open with his hip when he goes over the premium liquors and the cheap wine. There’s perishables, too, like juice and milk and eggs. But that’s usually tossed and replaced every week, if not more frequently. 

Credence shuts the fridge and moves onto the cheaper cases of liquor. 

The door to the storage room opens, but it’s just Mr. Graves. Credence watches him take two bottles of Grey Goose vodka out of the fridge and walk back out again.

Credence keeps counting bottles of bottom-shelf rum. 

Mr. Graves opens the door again. Credence glances at him, but he looks busy. 

The hand against Credence’s hip startles him.

“Sorry,” Mr. Graves says, his voice so low it almost disappears under the distant thump of bass-heavy music.

“It’s fine,” Credence says. He turns his head and Mr. Graves moves closer.

“I’m in the middle of the rum,” Credence says. “I think I lost count.”

“You can start again,” Mr. Graves says.

Credence tries to look over his shoulder at Mr. Graves, but the man leans in and kisses the back of his neck between his hair and the collar of his shirt.

“You don’t want me to stop?” Credence asks. 

“Not at all,” Mr. Graves says. “Just pretend I’m not here if you want.”

He licks the back of Credence’s neck, his tongue wet and hot between his lips. It sends a shiver down Credence’s back and right to his dick. But he swallows and starts his count over. Mr. Graves breathes down his collar. He holds Credence’s hips with both hands and presses in close against his back.

“Is this alright with you?” Mr. Graves asks. His lips brush against the curve of Credence’s ear.

“Yes,” he answers.

Mr. Graves nips the skin under his ear. Credence’s breath catches in his throat. The way Mr. Graves holds him makes him think about sex. 

As he kisses at the back of Credence’s neck, Mr. Graves moves his hands from Credence’s hips up to his waist. He touches him over his clothes, but pushes his fingers into the space between the buttons on Credence’s shirt. He doesn’t undress him, but he still finds ways to run his hands over Credence’s bare skin on his stomach and his sternum. 

“You look so good all dressed up,” Mr. Graves murmurs against his skin. “Reminds me of when we met.”

Credence is hard just from being kissed and petted. His cock twitches against his leg. The vividness of those memories has not faded. Credence leans back against the solid warmth of Mr. Graves’ body. 

Mr. Graves’ teeth scrape his earlobe.

“Feels like I’m hiding you away back here,” Mr. Graves says. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you while I was setting up.”

His breath is hot against Credence’s ear, but for some reason Credence has goosebumps. He tries to keep his breathing steady. He loses count of the bottles of rum twice. 

“Can I touch your cock?” Mr. Graves asks.

Credence decides to give up counting anything. He thinks about how he should refuse. The storage room is never locked while the bar is open. Everyone will notice Mr. Graves being gone for so long. They’ve probably noticed already.

Isn’t that more reason to just do this?

“Yes,” he says, tipping his head back against Mr. Graves’ shoulder. 

Mr. Graves bites him lightly on his neck and reaches down with one hand to grope him over his pants. His hand fits perfectly to the shape of Credence’s cock, taking him from half-hard to very hard with just a few strokes over his clothes. Mr. Graves pushes his nose against the corner of Credence’s jaw and makes some wordless noise.

“Thank you,” Mr. Graves says.

Credence listens to the thump of distant music and the pounding of his heart. Mr. Graves squeezes his dick right at the head. He touches him in just the ways he knows Credence enjoys.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Credence asks. 

It’s not a good idea, but he’s already thinking about how he would enjoy Mr. Graves bending him over the cases of liquor. He wants Mr. Graves to fuck him so hard he can’t talk or move or _think_. 

“I want to make you come,” Mr. Graves says.

Credence swallows. “Alright.”

Still, Mr. Graves takes his time before he even bothers to open Credence’s fly. There’s a damp spot on the front of Credence’s underwear and Mr. Graves rubs at it with his thumb. Credence feels him smiling against his neck.

Mr. Graves pushes Credence’s underwear down and then takes his time touching Credence’s hips and thighs. He cups Credence’s balls in one warm hand and leaves Credence’s cock bare and jutting out into the open. Credence feels it jerk when he thinks about how exposed he is. 

“Would you turn around so I can see you?” Mr. Graves asks.

“Yes,” Credence says. His voice sounds strange and strangled. 

Mr. Graves lets go of him and steps back so that Credence has enough room to turn around. He leans back against the cardboard cases and pushes his pants and boxers furthers down his legs.

“Look at you,” Mr. Graves says, but Credence prefers looking at him. The lighting in here isn’t particularly flattering to anyone, but it draws Mr. Graves in so many sharp lines. There’s a shadow at his throat above his collar. His neck looks like it was carved from marble. Every dark line seems to draw Credence’s eyes to Mr. Graves’ mouth.

“Should I,” Credence starts to say. He doesn’t know what to suggest.

“No,” Mr. Graves says, “I want to touch you.”

He pulls his vest aside slightly and takes something out of his pocket. Credence swallows when he recognizes one of the plastic lubricant packages that Mr. Graves always carries at work. Has that been in his pocket all day? It’s likely. 

Credence shivers.

Mr. Graves empties it into the palm of his hand.

Credence watches him do it while Mr. Graves looks him over. His eyes seem to travel down the whole length of Credence’s body and then back up. Mr. Graves steps in closer and touches Credence’s cock with cool, wet fingertips. Credence’s hips jerk forward against the touch, just enough for his thighs to tense. By the time Mr. Graves looks him in the eye again, he’s smirking. 

He knows how to touch Credence now, knows how Credence touches himself. Keeping his hand tight and wet around just the head of his cock makes Credence’s hips move in sharp, jerky thrusts. He feels like Mr. Graves takes control of his whole body when he touches him like this.

Credence’s breathing becomes shallow and fast. He licks his lips.

“Kiss me,” he says. “Please.”

Mr. Graves stands close enough to jerk him off, but only that. 

“Anything for a face like that,” Mr. Graves says.

His left hand cups Credence’s cheek and draws him forward for the kiss. Credence can hear Mr. Graves’ breathing over the wet sound of his hand on Credence’s cock.

Credence pants against Mr. Graves’ lips until Mr. Graves pushes his tongue into his open mouth. He puts both hands on Mr. Graves’ shoulders. He wants to grab him by the hair, but Mr. Graves might not like that. He might not want to walk out of here with messed up hair — everyone would know what he was doing with Credence then. 

A part of Credence wants everyone to know. A part of him would let Mr. Graves push him up against the bar just like this and make him come in front of everyone. 

The rest of him feels burning horror at the very thought. The push and pull of different fantasies inside his head makes Credence kiss Mr. Graves a little harder.

Mr. Graves speeds up his strokes, which feels like a blessing. There’s no teasing and no delay, only relief. Credence’s legs shake. He leans hard against the cases of liquor behind him.

“Tell me when you’re close,” Mr. Graves says.

Credence whines without Mr. Graves’ mouth to quiet him.

“I’m close,” he says, gulping down air. The shadows seem to make Mr. Graves lips an even darker red. His mouth is wet from Credence’s kisses and his teeth look dangerously white between them when he smiles.

Mr. Graves goes down on his knees and Credence feels himself bending over so that he can keep touching Mr. Graves’ shoulders. He doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t dare hold Mr. Graves by his face, where he’d no doubt leave red marks from grabbing too hard. He can’t mess up Mr. Graves’ hair. 

Oh, but he wants to. 

He squeezes Mr. Graves’ shoulders and leans his weight down on him. The muscles in his belly contract. 

Credence clenches his jaw. If he makes a sound, only Mr. Graves is close enough to hear it.

Mr. Graves opens his mouth, but only slightly. He doesn’t try to catch Credence’s semen in the curve of his hand either. Some of it gets on his hand, but more ends up on Mr. Graves’ face or spilled on the floor. 

Credence’s jaw relaxes. He closes his eyes and tries to catch his breath. When he blinks his eyes open again, finds Mr. Graves looking up at him with a grin. There’s come on the side of his nose and cheek, even a drop on his chin. Credence feels light-headed.

“Oh Jesus,” he says, softly.

His knees wobble and even though he has something solid behind him and Mr. Graves to lean on, Credence slowly sinks down to the floor. The concrete is cold against his bare knees. 

“Kiss me,” Credence says. His arms rest on Mr. Graves’ shoulders, but he’s not clutching him for dear life anymore.

Mr. Graves smiles wider and kisses him. He tastes bitter with Credence’s come and that’s at least partly because Credence makes a point to lick it off his lips and chin. Credence kisses him for only a moment before he moves to drag his tongue up the side of Mr. Graves’ nose.

They both laugh afterwards. 

“I think I have a wet wipe in my pocket too,” Mr. Graves says. “At least, I hope I do.”

“I could lick you clean,” Credence says. Then he laughs at himself, slightly hysterical. He leans against Mr. Graves and they’re easily kissing again. 

When Mr. Graves stands up, he brings Credence to his feet with him. It takes a flustered moment for Credence to put himself back together, yanking his pants and underwear back up into place. Mr. Graves wipes his face with his pocket square and then banishes it to his pants pocket.

“What can I do for you?” Credence asks, leaning close.

Mr. Graves kisses his cheek.

“You’ve done everything that I could want,” he says with his mouth against Credence’s skin, “for now.”

Credence blinks. “Really?”

“Oh, definitely,” Mr. Graves says.

He kisses Credence’s cheek again and then takes a step back.

“I don’t think I can finish the inventory,” Credence says.

“Want to come back out with me?” Mr. Graves asks. He tilts his head back toward the door. 

“I’ll fix you a drink on the house,” he teases. 

Credence leaves the inventory log behind on top of the cheap rum. He expects for people to look at them, but Seraphina hasn’t even stepped behind the bar to fill in for Mr. Graves. There are no customers waiting either. The few people that Credence can see are playing pool with a round of beers sitting on the unused table. There are a few lone men sitting in the shadows around the edges of the club.

Mr. Graves pours him a coke, adds a dash of grenadine and slices a maraschino cherry to garnish the edge of the glass. 

“Do you need to charge your phone?” he asks.

Credence checks and shakes his head. He takes a deep breath. Surely now Mr. Graves will want to talk about his sisters or — well, the things Credence said this afternoon.

“Shit,” Mr. Graves says.

Credence flinches.

“You didn’t bring any of your books,” he says. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Mr. Graves looks at him with his brows drawn together in concern. In Credence’s imagination, he still sees his own come on the man’s features. He raises his soda to his lips and takes a long drink.

“No problem,” Credence says. “I’m hardly going to get bored here.”

“Well, you never know,” Mr. Graves says. “You could be getting jaded.”

Credence rolls his eyes, then looks down at this drink with embarrassment.

The first person to come up to the bar is a dancer. Mike — whose real name might be Tyson or he might just think Credence is exceptionally gullible — slides right up to Credence’s shoulder.

“I heard Daddy Gravy brought his gravy baby,” Tyson says. “Rare pleasure to see ya on a Wednesday, honey.”

“I’m not a baby,” Credence says.

Tyson smiles at him. “Then how come I wanna pinch ya cheeks everytime I see ‘em?”

Credence fights a smile and Tyson makes a motion with his thumb and forefinger, but he keeps his hands a safe distance from Credence’s face. It’s just for show.

“Daddy Gravy, I need a round of Heineys for the VIP room,” Tyson says. He holds up three fingers.

“Are they tipping?” Mr. Graves asks.

“They’ll tip better if ya hurry it up, Daddy,” Tyson says. 

Mr. Graves ducks into the back and comes back with a six pack.

“Did they show up drunk?” he asks.

“You betcha bottom dollar they did, Daddy,” Tyson says. He happily takes the six pack and Mr. Graves adds it to a tab that must have been opened when Credence was in the backroom.

While all the dancers and staff know who Credence is, only a few are friendly towards him. Some of them, though, don’t seem to be friendly toward anyone. For instance, Char, who has shorter hair than Credence’s and used to be in the Navy, supposedly likes Credence. However, the only time he can remember her speaking to him was one night when he was helping clean up for closing and she told him that he shouldn’t do anything since he wasn’t on the payroll. She is one of the most intimidating people Credence has ever met.

But a few people who swing by the bar to pick up drinks for customers do seem surprised — maybe even happy — to see him without Newt. 

“If you need some company, we can hang in the locker room,” promises Calvin, who works as a personal trainer and looks like it. 

Credence once asked him if he used to play football in high school, but apparently he was a wrestler instead and went all the way to the state-level championships.

On the other hand, Austin — who looks a bit like Newt, if Newt had more muscle definition and fewer freckles — _did_ play football. He likes to grab Credence on the shoulder as a way of greeting and Credence has twice jabbed him in the stomach with his elbow on instinct. He just found it funny. Calvin only recently got him to stop it, but Credence expects that Austin could start up again any day. 

Tonight he greets Credence like he’s genuinely thrilled to see him at the bar on an extra day, but Credence still flinches in expectation at the sound of his voice.

“Are you still going to be here tomorrow?” Austin asks.

“I was planning to,” Credence tells him.

“Cool,” Austin says. “Awesome.” 

He lingers on the barstool beside Credence until Calvin tells him that he’s next up on stage and should get ready.

“See you around Credence!” Austin says when he goes.

From the stage, he shoots Credence a wave and a wink.

Credence stops in the locker room only briefly to use the bathroom. He sees Tyson, who calls him “gravy baby” a couple more times. He also sees Emilio, but only gets a grunted “Hey.”

None of the dancers mentions the period of time, however, long it was, that Mr. Graves spent with Credence in the store room. He braces for jokes and obscene questions that never come.

After three flavored and decorated sodas, Credence puts his head down on the bar with his cheek against his crossed arms. He handed his phone off to Mr. Graves after midnight so it could get charged and now he doesn’t know how late it is, but it must be very late.

Mr. Graves pets the back of his head, where the hair is long enough for him to run his fingers through. It’s overgrown. He needs to get it cut. Why is he thinking about this? Why can’t he think about anything else? 

“Go lay down if you want to,” Mr. Graves says. “Your favorite room should be open.”

It’s not necessarily Credence’s favorite. All the VIP rooms, he knows, are visually identical. He’s been in a few of the others. But this one, four doors down the hall on the left, is the one that Mr. Graves pulled him into the first night they met.

Credence shuts the door and smiles. 

He’s now had more sleep than sex in this particular room, but he’s still had plenty of sex in here.

For now, he lies down on a length of the blue couch that frames the room and shuts his eyes. The strange mix of thoughts — Mr. Graves kisses and Austin’s terrible idea of a friendly greeting, who will feed the chickens in the morning and when he’ll see his sisters again — running through his head can’t keep him from falling asleep.

The rush of air when the door opens has Credence blinking awake.

“Fuck,” Emilio says, “I didn't mean to wake you up.”

He shuts the door and Credence rubs his face with his hand.

“Do you mind if I, uh, just hang out?” he asks.

“Go ahead,” Credence says. He likes Emilio, whose stripper name is Raoul and whose name tag at the restaurant where he busses tables says “Ernie.”

“Thanks,” Emilio says.

He's in a weird combination of a thong and a jock strap, both bright white against tan skin. His sneakers and socks are white too, but Credence is pretty sure that Emilio has a bunch of sneakers to match his outfits.

“Bad customer?” Credence asks.

“Fuck yes,” Emilio says. He sits with his hands braced on his knees and his head down.

“It's this guy, fuck, says his name is Jim but that's bullshit cause I've closed out his tabs, Iike, either pay in cash or don't fuckin’ lie,” Emilio says. He lifts a hand to gesture as he speaks. When he moves his head, sweat drips from his dark hair.

“Wants me to put my dick in his face while he jerks off ‘cause he's got a fetish for Latin dick,” Emilio says. “Like first of all, I'm Filipino, you racist piece of shit. And then, I swear to God, this creep takes Viagra or something so he can beat off like twenty times while breathing my dick sweat and I hate it. I’d rather go one on one with Foot Fetish Fred in VIP.”

Foot Fetish Fred’s real name is actually Fred as far as Credence knows. He offered to buy Credence’s socks once, but that was before he found out Credence isn't a dancer or anything. 

“This fucker doesn't even tip,” Emilio says. “It's, fuck, it’s not worth it, I need a break.”

“Stay with me as long as you want,” Credence says.

“Well, I gotta make some money tonight,” Emilio says. He sighs.

Credence sits up and takes his wallet out of his back pocket. Emilio doesn't even look up until Credence sticks all the bills he has in Emilio’s face.

“Oh come on, man, fuck off with that shit,” he says. He doesn't touch Credence but he puts his hand up and Credence pulls back.

“I don't need to be taking your money,” Emilio says. 

Credence’s palm sweats a little.

“Credence,” Emilio says. “Come on, put that away.”

Credence frowns, but he puts his money back in his wallet and his wallet back in his pocket. He lies back down and Emilio slumps over until he's laying on the stretch of cushions perpendicular to Credence. Their heads are close at the corner of the room.

“Thanks man, but nah,” Emilio says, very quietly.

The quiet between them after that is surprisingly comfortable and Credence nearly falls asleep again.

“How come you’re here on a Wednesday?” Emilio asks. “It’s none of my business, but you and Graves got a schedule or something, a routine.”

Before Credence can reply, he yawns.

“Sorry,” he says. “I spent the afternoon with Mr. Graves. He did me a favor.”

“So this is like you paying him back?” Emilio asks.

“No,” Credence says.

He pauses. “I don’t think so.”

But Credence would be willing to pay him back, if Mr. Graves asked.

Emilio makes some noise that might be questioning or agreeing. Maybe it’s just a noise.

“He drove me to pick up my sisters at the airport, since I haven’t gotten my license yet,” Credence says. He doesn’t know why he says it; Emilio didn’t ask.

“Damn, man, you gotta get on that,” Emilio says. “But that’s cool, that’s real nice of him and shit.”

“Mr. Graves is nice,” Credence says.

“To you,” Emilio says. “Okay, he’s alright or whatever. He’s no lying Jim or Foot Fetish Fred, and he don’t steal my tips like my manager at the steak house.”

Emilio sits up and kicks his feet out then bends over to stretch towards his toes.

“So you got sisters?” he asks.

“Two,” Credence says. “Chastity took my little sister Modesty and moved out here because she’s getting married.”

“Damn, that’s cool,” Emilio says. “I got two baby sisters ‘cause my mom had twins with her new husband. He’s whatever, like wants to be my dad or some shit, but Rosa and Maria are the best. I don’t got my phone on me, but I’ll show you pictures. How old is Modesty?”

“Eight,” Credence says. “Almost nine.”

“Aw shit,” Emilio says, “Rosa and Maria are only four. I got all excited thinking they’d, like, go to school together or something.”

He laughs.

“But they’re like babies,” Emilio says. “It’s a good thing, though, like my mom’s a totally different person now. She used to beat the shit outta me over any tiny thing and she used to work three jobs and she was never around even when I was a baby. But now she’s married and she’s got Jesus. She doesn’t even gotta work cause her husband’s a dentist. So I told her if she lay a hand on Rosa and Maria, this guy, her husband would definitely leave her ass.”

Emilio blinks. “I don’t know why the fuck I told you all that, man. Don’t listen to me.”

“My Ma isn’t like that,” Credence says. “I don’t think she could ever change. She’s already got Jesus and it hasn’t made a difference yet.”

“Oh,” Emilio says. “I mean, I figured, your whole fucking family wouldn’t be in Atlanta if your mom was nice and shit.”

Credence laughs then and it’s a sort of awful sound, but Emilio laughs too.

“Shit, that was heavy,” Emilio says. “You good though?”

Credence stares up at the ceiling for a long moment and then turns his head so he can look back at Emilio, who is now slouched over and stretched out at the same time. When Credence sits up, he feels light headed. He ate heavily in the afternoon and hasn’t eaten since. For a moment, the mirrored room spins and Credence almost lies right back down in surrender.

Then the feeling clears from his head and he’s just hungry and a little tired.

“I’m good,” he says.

“Good,” Emilio says, nodding his head.

They stay there a while longer and when Emilio finally gets up and leaves they find it’s last call. Jim has been gone for a while. They have another hour of service, where people finish their drinks and buy their last dances. The end of the night is a routine of cleaning and money counting. By the early morning hours, Seraphina chases Credence and Mr. Graves out of the club with her keys jangling in her hand.

“Take him home!” she shouts at Mr. Graves because her hearing is always shot by the end of the night. “He looks like he’s going to fall over!”

In the car, Mr. Graves leans over and touches the back of Credence’s neck. “Are you alright?”

“I’m tired,” he says. “A little hungry.”

“Do you wanna grab something on the way?” Mr. Graves asks.

Credence leans back into the touch until Mr. Graves holds the back of his head in the curve of his hand.

“I want to go home with you,” he says.

Mr. Graves doesn’t move or speak. His hand is warm against Credence’s hair. Credence closes his eyes. He sighs.

“Alright,” Mr. Graves says.

Credence slips in and out of sleep, or something like it. He must, because it feels as though one moment they’re parked in front of Magic and the next they are pulling into the long driveway in front of Mr. Graves’ house. The drive takes over an hour. The sky has turned grey all around them, the dim and ugly color before the pink of dawn.

“Breakfast or bed?” Mr. Graves asks.

The screen door sticks when he tries to unlock it.

“Maybe breakfast in bed,” Mr. Graves suggests.

“Did I forget my phone?” Credence asks.

“You put it in your back pocket,” Mr. Graves tells him.

“Thank you,” Credence says, putting his hand over it.

He nearly stumbles on the threshold as Mr. Graves holds the door open for him. He’s trying to type out a message to Newt about how he won’t be coming home and he will see him tonight and he’s safe with Mr. Graves. Credence plans to get some sleep here and head to the club again with Mr. Graves, then Newt can take him home tomorrow. It’s 6:15 in the morning according to his phone. The drive must have taken longer than usual.

Mr. Graves touches the center of Credence’s back after he shuts the door and then leads Credence up the stairs as though he’s pushing him every step of the way.

“You could take a shower,” Mr. Graves says. “Or you can go right to bed. I’m going to make some food and if you’re asleep when I get back, I will understand.”

“Thank you,” Credence says. 

He stops Mr. Graves from walking away right then by grabbing his arm. Mr. Graves looks at him. Credence closes the space between them and puts his arms around Mr. Graves’ shoulders. Mr. Graves puts his arms gently around Credence’s waist and presses both hands to the small of his back. Credence sighs again. He takes a moment before trying to kiss Mr. Graves, because he feels light headed. He’s tired. He feels like he could fall asleep with his mouth against Mr. Graves’.

“Thank you,” Mr. Graves says, when Credence pulls away from the kiss. His nose is still touching Mr. Graves’ cheek and he feels the breath of each word move over his lips.

Credence lets his arms slowly fall away. Mr. Graves takes his time holding onto Credence.

“I’m going to make eggs and toast,” Mr. Graves says. “It’ll be really fast.”

“Alright,” Credence says.

Once Mr. Graves has left the room, Credence sits down on the bed and slowly undresses. He doesn’t feel like walking to Mr. Graves’ closet to hang his clothes up so he just folds and sets them on the bedside table.

Newt replies eventually to say that he’s already fed the chickens.

Credence gets his underwear off and then tucks himself into Mr. Graves’ bed. The sheets are cool and smooth against his skin. He should shower, but his whole body feels too heavy to move.

He feels himself nearly fall asleep, but rubs his face with both hands and yawns instead. He would like breakfast, but more than that he’d like to fall asleep with Mr. Graves beside him. He thinks about how nice it would be to doze off while Mr. Graves kisses him. Certainly better than falling asleep alone, even if Mr. Graves’ bed is still the most comfortable that Credence has ever beheld.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Mr. Graves says as he walks in carrying a wooden tray painted bright, robin’s egg blue. It doesn’t match anything in the kitchen or bedroom, but Credence knows he owns six identical ones for some reason.

The tray has a plate stacked high with buttered toast and another plate with two over-hard eggs on it. This Credence expected. But there’s also a glass bowl of blackberries dusted in sugar so that the juice pools at the bottom and a glass of ice water. 

“Now I don’t have to eat all of this,” Mr. Graves says. He smiles and kisses Credence’s cheek briefly when Credence manages to sit up.

He uses a fork to put one of the eggs between two pieces of toast and eats while watching Mr. Graves undress.

“I’m going to shower,” he says, leaving Credence alone with his blackberries and all the extra toast. Credence washes the sugar off his teeth with sips of cold water.

He waits for Mr. Graves to come back and listens to the sound of the shower. He thinks about getting out of bed and joining him. But the tray feels heavy against his thighs. He’s less tired with food in him, but still too tired to move.

He watches as Mr. Graves walks out of the bathroom naked and climbs into bed beside him. A half-chewed blackberry sits on his tongue.

“May I?” Mr. Graves asks, before he takes a piece of toast.

Credence nods. He swallows the blackberry.

“Are the blackberries good?” he asks. “I got them at the farmer’s market.”

“Try them yourself,” Credence says. He moves the bowl to the other side of the tray so it’s easier for Mr. Graves to reach.

The sounds Mr. Graves makes with two blackberries in his mouth leave Credence wanting to kiss him, so he does. Not deeply, just a quick press of his mouth against Mr. Graves’ lips.

Mr. Graves blinks at him.

“Credence,” he says. “I don’t know if you’re too tired to talk about it, but —”

Credence tenses up. He feels his throat closing. He is suddenly very awake, like he could jump out of bed and run.

“I liked meeting your sisters today,” Mr. Graves says. “Well, yesterday. Either way, I appreciate that you had to trust me a great deal to ask for my help. I just… uh, wanted to acknowledge that.”

“Oh,” Credence says.

“Did that sound dumb? I’ve been trying to think of how to say it all night,” Mr. Graves says. “Well, either way, your little sister is really something. I feel like I understand you a little better now.”

“You do?” Credence asks. He is just relieved that Mr. Graves likes Modesty. He knows that “really something” is one of Mr. Graves’ highest compliments. Credence is regularly “something,” though he still doesn’t know what it means exactly.

“Yeah,” Mr. Graves says. “And I like it.”

He smiles at Credence and then eats another spoonful of blackberries.

“And just so you know, I’m fine with being your boyfriend,” he says. “I don’t know if you just said that because of family, or if you were looking for a status upgrade.”

Credence picks up his glass of water with both hands and drinks from it slowly.

“I like you a lot,” Mr. Graves says. “I’m probably a little too old for you, as everyone likes to remind me, but I’m happy to offer the boyfriend experience if you’re interested.”

Credence swallows. His hands are cold and wet when he sets the glass down again. He dries them on the bedspread.

“I think I’m interested,” he says. “What does the boyfriend experience entail?”

Mr. Graves’ smile broadens a little more on one side than the other. He licks his lips and Credence watches the flash of his tongue. He’s reclining naked at Credence’s side, but Credence can’t stop looking at his face.

“Well, for one thing,” Mr. Graves says, “I think it should include a lot more kissing.”

“I like kissing,” Credence says.

“That’s excellent,” Mr. Graves tells him. His fingers brush along Credence’s jaw to draw him into a kiss. Credence closes his eyes before Mr. Graves’ lips reach his. He inhales right as their mouths touch. Mr. Graves’ tongue touches Credence’s lips softly, as though he’s tasting him. He goes slowly and lets Credence lick the sugar off his teeth. Everything is sweet and sharp, like fresh fruit.

Mr. Graves kisses him deeper and deeper until Credence feels as though the breath in his lungs comes from Mr. Graves’ lips.

When Mr. Graves pulls away, Credence doesn’t open his eyes for another breath. He savors the feeling of Mr. Graves’ lips on his lips lingering like an echo, like the ringing in his ears when the music gets cut for the night at Magic. Even after the kiss ends, he can always feel it for a moment afterward. It lasts longer if he keeps his eyes closed.

“Is there anything else?” Credence asks.

“That’s up to you,” Mr. Graves says. “The way I see it, if you want, we don’t have to change anything. Except we can call each other ‘boyfriend’ obviously.”

“I like calling you ‘Mr. Graves,’” Credence says.

“I get the impression your sisters wouldn’t like that,” Mr. Graves says.

Credence sighs. He wants to put Chastity’s words out of his mind, but he cannot. He feels safer here, though, than he did standing in the kitchen of a stranger’s house with his sister. Is that unfair? Is that cruel? 

He picked this over protecting Modesty, so it must be cruel. 

Mary Lou broke his little sister’s wrist because he was here with Mr. Graves and all his friends who she would despise — Jews and women who use birth control and homosexuals and whores. He always knew there would be consequences, but he didn’t expect they would fall on anyone’s head but his own.

“But you can call me anything you want, as far as I’m concerned,” Mr. Graves says.

Credence shakes his head slightly and looks Mr. Graves in the eye.

“Alright,” Credence says. “You can be Mr. Graves in private and my boyfriend in public.”

Mr. Graves laughs, a sudden and loud sound. He goes so far as to cover his mouth. Credence watches him shut his eyes and shake all over from laughter. It makes him smile.

“You always surprise me, Credence,” Mr. Graves says. “Have I told you how much I like you?”

“I think so,” Credence says, “but you could tell me again.”

Mr. Graves moves the tray off of Credence’s lap and then climbs over him to take its place. It’s a bit unexpected, but Credence can’t say he minds. The view of Mr. Graves kneeling over his legs on the bed is incredibly appealing. Credence looks him up and down, just because he can, until Mr. Graves cups his face between his hands.

“I like you so damn much,” Mr. Graves says.

“I like you too,” Credence says, feeling dizzy again. 

Kisses follow, a string of quick ones as a prelude to the kind of deep, searching thing that leaves Credence breathless and clutching the bedspread in his fists.

“So far, I like the part with more kissing,” Credence says, and he knows that it will make Mr. Graves laugh again. He smiles when it does.

**Author's Note:**

> HMU @ jeffgoldblumsmulletinthe90s.tumblr.com


End file.
